


Leather and Lavender

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Pastel Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Pastel Dark Sides, Punk Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Punk Light Sides, oblivious gays, the himbo energy is off the CHARTS, yall.... theyre so so dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27209569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: Roman’s prized jacket is a gold-studded, red satin-lined black leather affair that he pretty much never takes off.The one time he does, he thinks it’s the best mistake he’s ever made.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Platonic DLAMPR
Comments: 49
Kudos: 481





	Leather and Lavender

**Author's Note:**

> the mutual pining prinxiety punk light sides/pastel dark sides au that absolutely nobody asked for but you ARE getting anyway
> 
> and a big thank you to @trivia-goddess for both the beta-reading and the commentary boiling down to “theyre so fucking stupid” because... akjdlkj yeah

Every moment Logan spent in Roman and Virgil’s combined presence he spent contemplating homicide.

It was genuinely painful. Logan knew they were not dating, and while he didn’t participate in Remus, Janus, and Patton’s teasing of them he didn’t exactly discourage it.

Because Roman and Virgil managed, somehow, to be both not dating and the most nauseatingly affectionate couple Logan had ever had the misfortune to exist in the same room as.

“Where, oh where is my most favorite bundle of lavender?”

Virgil was perched next to Logan on the brick wall outside the dining hall in his usual sweater-skirt-and-converse combination – Patton liked to joke that the six of them together looked like pairs of songbirds perched on vulture’s heads, and it was particularly obvious when Virgil (usually dressed in pink and lavender) and Logan (always entirely black) were next to each other.

When he heard Roman’s words, Virgil immediately lit up, grinning. Hopping off the brick wall, he walked briskly over to a beaming Roman, who immediately picked him up off the ground and spun him in a circle. Virgil giggled in response like Roman didn’t do this _every fucking day._

Virgil leaned down from his position aloft in the air to press his forehead to Roman’s and for a moment Logan thought Virgil was going to kiss him and end all their suffering in watching this three-year strong nauseating display of mutual pining.

Roman let Virgil slip from his arms to the ground, and Logan resisted the urge to groan aloud in frustration.

“Calm down,” Patton murmured, directly into Logan’s ear and setting him shivering, “It’s cute,”

“You think everything is cute,” Logan muttered back, squeezing his boyfriend’s knee, “This? This is painful,”

“They’ll get there eventually,” said Patton, nuzzling Logan’s cheek a little, the softness of it a contrast with the slight scratch of Patton’s nose piercing.

Taking Roman’s hand, Virgil led him back over to the rest of them and plucked Roman’s coffee off of the brick next to where he’d been sitting.

Roman pressed a hand to his chest, taking the coffee with effusive levels of gratitude.

“Truly you bless my life every moment Virgil.”

“Oh shut up,” Virgil muttered, elbowing him, though he was clearly pleased.

“I shan’t!” said Roman, “Who else brings me the sweet nectar of Starbucks every morning? Who else can I marathon Disney with? Who else is the pastel light of my life?”

“Gee, thanks bro,” said Remus, waving from the ground, which he had for some reason laid on and then propped his legs up on the wall.

“I, too, am feeling very loved,” said Janus, who had been adjusting his makeup in a handheld mirror while they sat and somehow not managing to get any of it on the excessive amount of lace he was wearing, which Logan found genuinely impressive.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” said Patton, the various chains on his jeans rattling as he crossed one leg over the other and leaned into Logan’s side, “He’s gotta pick his best guy, doesn’t he?”

“Of course, what were we thinking?” said Janus primly.

“Yeah, can’t say I’m surprised,” said Remus sagely, “ _My_ brother? Roman ‘couldn’t pick a color other than black or red out of a line-up’ Prince? He’s clearly only interested in pastels when he’s horny for them, ergo Virgil,”

“ _Remus!_ ” exclaimed Patton, giggling.

“Oh, get off the ground you grungy piece of green apple cotton candy,” said Roman, kicking his brother lightly in the side.

“Do you think the dining hall will ever get a cotton candy machine?” said Remus immediately.

“We certainly pay enough in tuition to cover it,” deadpanned Logan as the six of them made their way into the building. Remus took Janus by the hand and leaned over to press a loud _smack_ of a kiss to his cheek, leaving behind the faintest pale green lip print, and Janus flushed.

Ugh. Logan was surrounded by saps.

Patton helpfully reached over and brushed some of Logan’s hair out of his face, and Logan reciprocated by redoing some of the zippers on Patton’s jacket.

They found a table that would fit all of them, and Patton volunteered to stay behind first while the rest of them retrieved their meals. By the time Logan returned, Virgil and Roman were already seated, their chairs moved directly next to each other, and Virgil had his legs thrown over Roman’s as they cheerfully stole food from each other’s plates.

Virgil hand-fed Roman one of his fries and Roman playfully snapped his teeth like he was going to bite Virgil’s fingers.

Logan gave Patton a beseeching look.

“There, there, babe,” said Patton, patting him gently on the arm.

“‘There, there’ what?” said Roman, because Roman was dense as a brick.

“Nothing,” said Logan rolling his eyes.

The two of them continued the obscene cuteness throughout the meal, seemingly unaware of Logan and Janus’s eye rolls and Remus’s gagging motions and Patton’s cooing.

“Oh, before I forget,” said Patton, “Are we still on for going to The Pantry after poetry club on Wednesday? I know we made the plans ages ago, I almost forgot,”

“It’s your _birthday_ Patton,” said Logan, scandalized, “I would hardly have forgotten,”

“Yes, Pat, I’m coming,” said Janus.

“Same, I got nowhere better to be,” said Remus, giving Patton a wink.

“Yeah, we’re free,” said Virgil absently, gesturing between himself and Roman.

Logan sent another desperate glare at Patton and Patton bit his lip in what was clearly an attempt not to laugh at all three of them.

“Good to hear, kiddo! You and Roman,” he said teasingly.

Virgil just blinked at him, confused.

“Remus,” said Logan, “If I am going to kill Roman and Virgil will you help me?”

Remus cackled, and Roman made an offended noise.

“Hey, what did I do?” said Virgil incredulously.

“Trust me, you deserve it,”

“Can’t argue with him,” said Remus.

“We’re not killing Roman and Virgil,” said Patton, exasperated, “We love them,”

“Haven’t you seen The Shining?” quipped Remus, “They’re not mutually exclusive,”

“Oh that _hardly_ counts as _love-”_ said Roman, offended.

Mercifully, that managed to move approximately fifty percent of Roman’s attention from Virgil to Remus, and the conversation devolved into a debate about what qualified a “romance.”

Logan did not say Roman clearly couldn’t identify romance when it was literally draped across his lap, but he came quite close.

He _sincerely_ hoped Virgil and Roman were going to get their collective shit together sometime in the near future. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

—

Virgil was firmly of the opinion that Roman’s hair was the softest thing in the universe. Surpassing all manner of fine fabrics, clouds, fluffy bunnies and other furry creatures – Roman’s hair beat them all.

So, when it came to getting his hands on said hair, Virgil thought he was perfectly justified in a little bit of subterfuge.

A sharp rap came from his dorm room door, and a familiar voice called “Knock, knock,”

“Come in!” called Virgil, the snacks already set up on the bedside table and the laptop balanced on his knees.

Roman entered with his usual cacophony of jingling from the various gold chains and layered jewelry, draping his leather jacket over the desk chair as he passed it.

His eyes came to rest on Virgil, and his face lit up.

“My favorite sweater!” he exclaimed, already stripping off his jewelry in a rush.

Virgil feigned a sigh of exasperation, crossing his arms.

“You’re gonna be an octopus through the whole movie, aren’t you?”

“You know me so well,” said Roman, tossing Virgil a wink that made his stomach flip over into his chest.

Finally free of anything that might snag or poke, Roman climbed up into the bed and immediately burrowed into Virgil’s arms.

“The audacity,” teased Virgil, ignoring the way his heart was pounding, “Using me for my sweater,”

The sweater in question wasn’t all that special – a fluffy, oversized, cable-knit lavender affair that Virgil had owned for years. What _made_ it special was that wearing it never failed to make Roman cuddle Virgil, which made it the most valuable article of clothing in Virgil’s wardrobe in his opinion.

Roman rested his head on Virgil’s chest, arm draped across his ribs, and Virgil abandoned all pretense and wrapped both of his around Roman’s shoulders, nuzzling his face to the crown of Roman’s head and letting one hand lace through his hair.

Roman hummed happily, nuzzling.

“You’re gonna make me fall asleep,” he muttered.

“Too bad,” chirped Virgil, “You want sweater privileges, I get to play with your hair. It’s the law,”

“I’m an anarchist,”

“Not in my room, you’re not,”

Roman let out a long-suffering sigh.

“I suppose I can bear to capitulate to this extortion,” he said faux-wearily, reaching over to the laptop to press play on the movie.

“Black Cauldron again?” he teased.

“Get here earlier and you can pick the first movie for once,”

“Well,” drawled Roman, looking up through his lashes and giving Virgil a saucy wink, “I would never turn down a chance to spend time with such a dashing knight,”

“That was old the second time you used it, Princey,”

“Like Princey’s better,”

“Princey’s catchier,”

“And ‘Knight’ is more versatile,” said Roman, grabbing Virgil’s hand and playing idly with the fingers, “Daring Knight. Knight in Shining Armor. Dark and Stormy Knight,”

“The only thing dark and stormy about me is my music taste, obviously,”

Roman, in his red-black-studded-gold ensemble, did stick out like a sore thumb in the soft lavenders and pale pinks of Virgil’s room.

“I beg to differ, Surly Temple,” said Roman, “You have quite the stormy disposition. Which is by all means a compliment, it’s very amusing to watch you punch homophobes in a sundress and pink converse.”

“Well, that’s just good sense,” said Virgil, “Gotta weed them out of your favorite mall quick,”

“I’ll make a punk of you yet, Knight,”

“Hard pass,” deadpanned Virgil, “I _like_ lavender, thanks,”

“Pastel punk is a thing!”

“Just play the movie, Princey,”

Roman huffed melodramatically, but he did press play. Settling back down, he buried his face in the huge, soft sweater, sighing, and Virgil returned his focus to gliding his fingers through the silky strands of bright crimson hair.

Virgil also had an ulterior motive for putting on Black Cauldron – he _did_ love it, but that also meant he knew exactly what happened, and when.

If he got embarrassingly lost in the sensation of Roman’s hair between his fingers, it would be easy to glance at the screen and know what Roman was commentating on.

But he needn’t have worried – he’d suspected this might happen, because he knew Roman had an incredibly long week (both at work and in class) and had been looking forward to a chance to relax at their standing movie night. Before the credits even rolled, Roman was fast asleep.

Virgil carefully maneuvered his laptop onto the bedside table before scooting down the bed so he could lay down as well. Roman nuzzled closer, and Virgil’s heart trembled, overwhelmed with fondness.

Virgil lived for these quiet, seemingly insignificant stolen moments. Moments when it was possible to pretend, for just a moment, that was actually a date like all their friends insisted on saying to make fun of them, that Roman was here as his boyfriend and not his best friend.

But even that felt selfish. Roman was _the_ best friend Virgil could ask for – what right did Virgil have, to ask him for anything more?

Pressing a feather-light kiss to Roman’s temple, Virgil cradled Roman’s head against his chest, and followed him into sleep.

—

Virgil woke up wonderfully warm and blissfully relaxed, which meant Roman had spent the night. Virgil never slept better than he did with Roman’s arms around him, either as deep or as restful.

Still sleepy, he blinked his eyes open and pushed some of his own pale purple hair out of his face, smiling a little when Roman was already awake and looking at him softly.

“Morning,” Virgil croaked.

“Morning, Hail and Pastel,” said Roman, grabbing Virgil’s hand between them and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. Virgil hummed, squirming forward and seeking Roman’s warmth again.

“Cold,” he grumbled, “Cuddle me,”

“So demanding,” said Roman, even as he wrapped Virgil up in his arms and cradled him against his chest.

“Heating pads don’t sass,”

“Neither does strawberry ice cream normally, and yet you exist,”

“Ew, strawberry?” said Virgil, “I’m clearly grape saltwater taffy.”

Roman laughed, loud and stunning, and Vigil just barely managed not to preen.

“What sweet would you call me then?”

“Dark chocolate-covered cherries,” said Virgil immediately.

Roman raised his eyebrows.

“Thought about that, have you?”

“You have no idea,” said Virgil.

Virgil had devoted _entirely_ too much brain space to assigning Roman theoretical flavors. Hey, if Virgil couldn’t _actually_ kiss him, he figured there was no harm in daydreaming about it.

They kept laying in bed for several minutes, lapsed into silence. Roman continued to play with Virgil’s fingers, running his thumbs over Virgil’s chipped lavender nail polish.

“We gotta go,” said Roman finally, “Or we’re gonna be late to breakfast and everybody’s gonna make horribly uncomfortable jokes,”

Virgil winced, and Roman gave him a sympathetic look.

“They’ll let it go eventually, Sweetie Todd,” said Roman gently, running a thumb over Virgil’s temple.

Virgil just hummed his fake agreement and pretended his heart wasn’t breaking.

They did not wind up being late to breakfast, but that didn’t stop Remus from making mockingly scandalized noises when they showed up together, clutching his fake pearl necklace and pretending to swoon.

“I hate you,” deadpanned Virgil.

“Oh, bullshit,” said Remus, wiggling his fingers in a little, “If I didn’t torture you incessantly you’d think I didn’t like you, Grape Depression,”

“He’s not wrong,” said Janus, “He once went a whole three hours without making fun of the word ‘Lolita’ and I thought he was breaking up with me,”

Remus gasped.

“Sugar Lips, I would never! You’re stuck with my sexy ass forever,”

“And what an ass it is,”

“I am _attempting_ to _eat a meal,_ ” said Logan, like Patton hadn’t leaned over to whisper in his ear like three times since they sat down to probably make some kind of flirty pun.

_He really thinks he’s slick, doesn’t he?_ thought Virgil, amused.

In spite of his irate protesting, Logan didn’t actually get sick on any of them even though Remus and Janus started being obnoxiously cutesy just to spite him. Logan flicked Remus in the ear in retaliation when they finally got up, but he couldn’t manage to get ahold of Janus at all. Patton offered Janus a low five as a reward.

“Must we part?” said Roman, holding both of Virgil’s hands in his own and gently pushing and pulling them in a little dance.

“We must,” said Virgil, smiling a little, “I have to do my dishes, and sweep and mop. Other things too, but those are the big ones,”

“I could help you,” said Roman.

“Chores never get done when you help,” laughed Virgil, “You always want to make it a dance party, and then we get distracted singing MCR songs and kick over the bucket and my room winds up half clean and smelling like vinegar for three weeks,”

“One time!” said Roman indignantly.

“It was no less than three times,” deadpanned Virgil, “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Roman sighed long-sufferingly.

“Very well,” he said morosely, raising Virgil’s hands to his lips and pressing two soft kisses to them one after the other, “I await your return with bated breath,”

Virgil probably looked utterly, stupidly sappy, but he thought he really could not be blamed.

Back at his own dorm, Virgil unlocked the door, humming lightly. He was forever grateful to have a single as he shut it behind him, shedding his bag and jacket as he moved over to the closet to get out the broom.

He stopped short at his desk, something pricking at the back of his mind, something out of place. He looked around and realized there was something that was decidedly not his on the back of his desk chair.

It was Roman’s jacket.

Carefully, Virgil plucked it off the chair, turning it over in his hands. Roman treasured the leather jacket – he had added the gold studs and the red fabric to the inside himself. He pretty much never took it off except to sleep, and Virgil was genuinely kind of shocked he’d managed to forget it.

He moved toward his bag to grab his phone and text Roman, holding the jacket against his chest, and stopped.

The smell of leather and art chalk overwhelmed his senses for a moment, and under that, a familiar cologne and something vaguely woodsy that Roman always smelled of and Virgil didn’t know the source of. It smelled like _Roman,_ and before he’d actually thought it through Virgil had slipped on the jacket.

It dwarfed him – Roman was several inches taller than him and much broader in the shoulders – but somehow that made it _better._ Virgil felt exactly like he did when Roman held him, safe and comfortable and surrounded by warmth.

Virgil buried his face in the collar of the jacket, rubbing his cheek against the insanely soft leather, and glanced over at his phone.

… It was going to be a few days before he saw Roman again. The first half of the week was always so busy for the both of them.

Would it… really hurt if Virgil kept the jacket for a little while? Just to help him sleep?

It was weak, and he _knew_ it was weak, but somehow Virgil still wound up crawling into bed that night, wrapped in the closest facsimile of the real Roman he’d ever found.

It wasn’t the same – but it was really, really close.

—

Virgil’s little theft didn’t go unnoticed.

The first time Roman texted him and asked him if he’d seen it Sunday afternoon, Virgil should have come clean.

But Virgil just… _missed_ him, terribly, and when he’d received the text he’d been wearing it, drowsy and content and surrounded by the scent of _Roman, Roman, Roman-_

So he’d lied.

On the second day he’d gotten nervous, embarrassed, guilty – what was he doing, stealing Roman’s stuff? One of Roman’s _favorite_ things, to boot, and lying about it, which was worse, and he’d worked himself up into such a state he’d had a panic attack.

Without hardly thinking about it, he’d rushed across the room and pulled the jacket out of its hiding place under his clothes in a drawer, and wrapped it around himself like a blanket rather than even put it on.

And all over again, it was the next best thing to having Roman there – just like it had been when he’d fallen asleep, it was like Roman was there, holding him, telling him it was okay and that he wasn’t angry. Virgil brushed his temple against the satin of the inside of the jacket and it was almost like Roman had brushed his thumb there, soothing and gentle.

Two days, and Virgil missed Roman _desperately_ , but the jacket soothed it and made it feel… further away. Less daunting. Virgil took to wearing it around his dorm, putting on headphones with soothing sounds and leaning back against a pillow, imagining Roman was there and sharing the quiet with him.

On Wednesday, Virgil spent almost his entire afternoon like that, charging his social battery for poetry club and then dinner afterwards. Virgil needed a lot of alone time to make up for being around people, but Roman never felt like people, so the hours spent relaxing in Roman’s jacket were even less so.

It wasn’t far of a walk to the building poetry club was held in, so Virgil didn’t get up until just a few minutes beforehand, sighing contentedly as he rose from his half-doze. Grabbing his purse off the hook on the back of his door, he then took his keys and phone off of the bedside table and made his way out into the slight chill of October, jingling his keys slightly in his hand as he went.

They always met in the foyer of the bottom floor before going up together, mostly because nobody wanted to see what happened if they set Remus “pinned insect and animal bones collection” Prince or Logan “what do you mean arson isn’t a valid protest avenue?” Atwood loose on the rest of the poetry club by themselves, and it was only fair that if they couldn’t go in alone nobody else could either.

Virgil was the last to arrive, pushing open the door and waving. Janus waved back, froze, and abruptly elbowed Remus in the side with a force that was visibly painful.

Remus looked over to Virgil, and a grin spread across his face, pressing his fist to his mouth. Everyone else followed, and as they all turned to look at him the conversation came to a sudden, dead silent halt.

“Um,” said Virgil, “… Guys?”

“Well, hello Virgil,” said Patton, grinning.

“… Can I, uh- ask why you’re all staring at me?”

“He doesn’t know,” muttered Logan, “I am going to scream,”

Virgil huffed, annoyed, turning to Roman because he knew _Roman_ wasn’t going to be deliberately obtuse about… whatever was going on.

And stopped short.

Roman was openly gaping at him, his mouth open in surprise and his eyes round as quarters, looking at Virgil so intensely it made Virgil have to resist the urge to shiver a little.

“… Roman?” said Virgil hesitantly, ignoring the flush that was creeping up his neck.

“You-” Roman started, so quiet Virgil almost didn’t hear it, “You, uh- found my jacket,”

Virgil’s blood froze in his veins, and realized that he was, in fact, _still wearing Roman’s jacket._

He’d been half-asleep still when he’d left his dorm - it hadn’t even registered. But there he was, standing in the foyer of the English building in a pink sundress with lavender embroidered on the hem, a pair of purple converse, and Roman’s _fucking_ jacket.

“I- yeah,” said Virgil, face burning, “I did. Find it, that is, um- here, you can have it back-”

Virgil went to slip the jacket off his shoulders, but Roman raised his hands immediately.

“No!” he said, “You don’t- you don’t have to, you don’t… have any other jacket. You can wear it, I don’t- I don’t want you to get cold.”

Virgil hesitated.

"Are you sure?”

“Very sure,” said Roman, in a tone of voice Virgil couldn’t decipher.

“Well, uh- okay,” said Virgil softly, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” said Roman, still giving Virgil that insanely intense look.

“If you two are done eye-fucking we have some places to be tonight,” said Remus, rolling his eyes.

Virgil and Roman both startled, and Virgil felt the blush creeping higher and higher. He resolved to stop at a water fountain and drink some cool water, and hopefully that would calm him down.

It didn’t make any kind of difference.

Because Roman would. Not. Stop. _Staring_.

He even skipped his turn to share in poetry club, which he never did. Virgil felt Roman’s eyes on him through the whole hour, whether Virgil was talking or not, and after the first couple times Virgil stopped looking back, because there was something incredibly overwhelming in Roman’s eyes that made Virgil feel like his heart was in his throat.

It continued, through the entire hour and then when they left, which was even worse because Virgil and Roman usually held hands when they all walked together. It meant Roman was _right_ next to him, scant inches of space between them, radiating heat and intensity and _something_ , something that set Virgil’s pulse racing and his thoughts dizzy, something that made Virgil want to do something absolutely insane like kiss him.

Because Roman was either really, really angry that Virgil had stolen his jacket or-

Or-

Dinner passed in much the same way, made even worse by the fact that Roman pushed their chairs to touch and tucked Virgil under his arm, tightening his grip around Virgil’s waist every time Virgil leaned away.

Virgil couldn’t help but relax into him, his temple against Roman’s collarbone, shivering lightly every time Roman drew little circles just above Virgil’s hip. It was driving Virgil _crazy_ – he felt frazzled and off-kilter, and several times had to bite his lip to stave off a little gasp at the touch.

He managed, mercifully, to make it through dinner. They left the restaurant, Virgil and Roman separating so Virgil could walk Roman to his car – he and Remus lived off-campus, and Remus was apparently staying with Janus tonight – their hands still held between them.

But Roman spent the entire walk, absolutely, utterly silent.

Virgil wasn’t even sure he could hear Roman _breathing_ – it was the kind of silence that made him too riddled with anxiety to even try and break it, and his brain was wildly spinning between possibilities as to why.

They got to Roman’s car, and Virgil made to stop, but Roman didn’t – he tugged gently but firmly, until Virgil followed and then, of all the things, opened up the back seat of the car and gestured for Virgil to get it in.

“Um,” said Virgil eloquently, “You don’t- you don’t have to drive me back to my dorm, Roman, its barely after dark,”

Even then, Virgil wasn’t sure why Roman would want him to get in the back seat like he was Virgil’s chauffeur or something.

“Please,” said Roman simply.

Virgil was pretty sure he was physically incapable of a “no” in the face of Roman’s “please,” so he only hesitated another fraction of a moment before climbing in.

Roman followed without warning, and Virgil quickly scooted to the middle seat to make room. Roman shut the door behind him.

“Uh, Roman-”

“Tell me not to kiss you,” said Roman calmly.

Virgil made a noise that was not calm at all.

“ _Virgil,_ ” said Roman a little more strangled, putting one hand just behind Virgil on the seat while the other stretched along the back, until he was leaning so close Virgil could feel his breath.

“Tell me not to kiss you,” Roman repeated, even more undone, “And I won’t.”

Virgil’s hands were shaking, and he couldn’t look away from their locked eye contact, felt like he couldn’t see anything except the burning warm brown and black of Roman’s eyes, looking at Virgil like he wanted to eat him alive.

“No,” said Virgil, quiet.

“ _Virgil,_ ” said Roman, a warning note in his voice, leaning forward like he couldn’t help it.

“You should,” said Virgil breathlessly, “You should, you should kiss me, _please_ kiss me-”

Roman descended on him, practically dragging Virgil into his lap as he licked into his mouth. Moaning, Virgil wrapped his arms around Roman’s neck, straddling his hips and letting their tongues tangle together.

“ _You_ ,” Roman gasped into his mouth, hand stroking Virgil’s thigh over his tights and making Virgil shudder, “You, Virgil, you drive me crazy, look at you,”

His hand squeezed the back of Virgil’s thigh and Virgil moaned again, pressing closer.

“Again,” he demanded, his voice so low and sultry he almost didn’t recognize it as his own, “Kiss me again.”

Roman’s other hand wound into the hair on the back of Virgil’s head, and he dragged Virgil back into a kiss so hot and desperate Virgil keened into his mouth.

“Come home with me,” Roman growled against his lips.

“ _Fuck,_ ” hissed Virgil.

“Please,” continued Roman, squeezing Virgil’s thighs and pulling at his hair and kissing the breath from his lungs, overwhelming and wonderful and so hot Virgil felt like he was going to burst into beautiful flame, “Please come home with me, baby, let me show you how much I love you, be mine,”

Virgil laughed, thrilled and half-delirious, cradling Roman’s jaw in both his hands and kissing him fiercely.

“Roman,” he said reverently, pressing their foreheads together, “You’re such a dork,”

He pressed another, softer kiss to Roman’s lips.

“I’m _already_ yours.”

—

Virgil and Roman arrived for breakfast together, which Logan did not find particularly noteworthy. They arrived holding hands, which was also unremarkable. Virgil was still wearing Roman’s jacket, which was atypical but not surprising.

But for some reason, Patton was watching them with narrow-eyed intensity, as if he was examining them through a microscope.

“What?” said Logan quietly, elbowing him gently.

“Wait for it,” said Patton opaquely, and then he didn’t respond to any of Logan’s continued prodding.

Logan felt just a touch put out by this, but Patton often did such things, so Logan let it go.

Janus and Remus arrived last, and the six of them made their way into the dining hall. At the table, Roman offered to stay behind, and Virgil turned to look up at him and placed his free hand on Roman’s chest.

“Thanks, Ro,” he said sweetly.

And then he tilted his head back as if he’d done it every day for years, and Roman leaned down and kissed him.

The table _exploded_.

Patton was squealing with delight, bouncing so enthusiastically that the many chains and pins on his jacket were rattling, and Janus abruptly slammed his hands down on the table.

“I _told_ you!” said Janus, uncharacteristically exuberant, “I fucking _told_ you, pay _up_ babe, I fucking _knew it-_ ”

“Okay, okay!” said Remus, putting one hand up in surrender and reaching into his pocket to hand Janus a bundle of bills, “Also, absolutely fuck you Roman. The _one_ time you decide not to live down to my eternal chickenshit expectations of you and it _has_ to be the time I put money on it,”

“Eat shit,” said Roman cheerfully, as a blushing Virgil hid his face in Roman’s chest with a whine.

“Shut uuuuuuup,” Virgil groaned.

“Oh I most definitely absolutely will _not!_ ” said Patton brightly, clapping his hands, “I’m so happy for you two!”

Logan, for his part, simply sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Huh,” he said, “You actually did it,”

“Oh, shut _up_ ,” Virgil repeated.

“No, really, I am impressed,” said Logan, “I was beginning to think I was going to have to watch you two proverbially dance around each other for the rest of our fucking lives - I am genuinely ecstatic at this development.”

“I am going to put bubble gum pink dye in your fucking shampoo, Logan, don’t test me!” said Virgil, glaring at him.

“No offense, but I feel like I’m being threatened by lavender poppy seed muffin,”

“I’m clearly taffy!” said Virgil, causing Roman to burst into laughter for some reason.

“Of course you are, my love,” he said, leaning down for another kiss that made all the irritation immediately melt from Virgil’s shoulders.

“Oh _no_ ,” said Logan suddenly.

“Oh no what?” said Remus, raising a brow.

Logan gave him a solemn look.

“They’re going to be _even worse,_ ”

Remus stared for a moment, and then all four of them exchanged glances.

“We’re doomed,” said Janus simply.

“Absolutely fucked,” said Remus.

“Well, _I_ think it’s sweet,” said Patton, amused.

Logan glanced over at Roman and Virgil, Virgil on his toes with his arms wrapped around Roman neck, playing with his hair, while Roman spoke sweetly down at him wearing an expression that was so soft Logan could only compare it to cotton candy.

“Very well,” he conceded, “It is a _little_ sweet,”

**Author's Note:**

> you can also find me over on tumblr @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors


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